The Depressing Giant Swede
by Zenalee
Summary: Connie has a late night visitor...


It takes time to get back on track, Connie reminded herself. And time was something she had buckets of in the wake of her resignation. She had quit for a number of reasons, but spending the last precious days with her dying father was a major one. But now he was gone, and without work she had nothing to distract her from her loss.

The only person she had left in the world was Grace, and beautiful and perfect as she was, she wasn't old enough to understand what was going through her mother's head; she couldn't offer support to the person she relied on for everything. Not to mention the fact that she was in the States with Sam for a month and wouldn't be home until Christmas. Connie was regretting that decision now, wishing that she wasn't so alone in the huge house that she had once shared with her husband, but she knew it was a selfish desire.

She hadn't left surgery behind entirely; she remained a visiting consultant at St James's, and occasionally a private hospital, but it wasn't the same. She missed the craziness of NHS comings and goings, the late nights on call, the herding of nervous F1s and bitchy registrars. She thought of Jac, flying the feminist flag in CT in her absence. Jac shared her ruthless ambition, it was true, but she had none of Connie's style.

Her train of thought was rudely interrupted by a knock on the front door, and she frowned, placing her wine glass on the coffee table. It was unusual for people to call. The house was so remote that apart from the postman, she rarely had unsolicited visitors. She checked her appearance in the long mirror in the hallway, wrapping her black cashmere cardigan tightly around her to disguise the fact that she wore very little beneath it, and smoothed down her hair. She'd kept it long since leaving Holby and she rather liked the softer new look.

Another knock, firmer this time, and Connie reached for the door handle, opening it just enough to see who it was and get rid of them swiftly. When she saw the identity of her caller, she let the door swing open and leant casually against the oak frame, crossing her arms while she waited, without speaking, for an explanation.

'Mrs Beauchamp.' He said, looking down on her with a slight smile. 'May I come in?'

She blinked, unmoving, but he simply held up a bottle in his right hand, undeterred. A peace offering. An expensive peace offering, she noted.

She turned her back on him and allowed him to follow her into the house, hiding a smile at the corner of her mouth as he carefully wiped his shoes on the doormat. She almost told him to take them off, but decided that the sight of Henrik Hanssen in suit, tie and socks would be far too hilarious to witness with a straight face.

Connie noticed him eyeing the already open bottle of wine on the table, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

'What do you want, Henrik?' She finally asked, little concerned with the mindgames they'd played in the past. There was no point to it now, and she didn't have the energy. If he was surprised that she gave in to her curiosity so quickly, he didn't show it.

'I came to see how you were, and to offer my condolences.'

Hospital business then. Hanssen was never one for sentiment.

'I see. Well, that was incredibly thoughtful of you.' She replied, allowing a touch of sarcasm to creep into her words.

'Mrs Beauchamp-'

'Oh for god's sake call me Connie. We're not at work.' She interrupted, losing her patience with him. He looked ruffled for the first time, and she wondered what he really did want from her.

'Connie. I understand that you have been acting as a visiting consultant at St James's over the past few weeks, is that correct?'

'If I have, I don't see that it has anything to do with you.'

He was frustrated with her confrontational attitude, she could see, but he was trying not to show it.

'I have heard a rumour, from a very reliable source, that you will be offered a full time position within the next month.'

'And?' Connie was confused now. If St James's wanted her, that was of course understandable. She'd had offers from various hospitals but hadn't made any decisions yet. Why was Henrik so bothered?

'They would be recruiting you, not just as a consultant, but as the head of a major new cardiothoracics department; specialist teaching, advanced procedures, clinical trials, that sort of thing. There is a competition for the funding, and with you on board they would be best placed to win it.'

Connie took a large sip of her merlot and conjured a mental image of herself as the head of a fast-paced CT wing. It would certainly keep her busy. Yes, that would do very nicely.

'Well surely you can't be worried, I mean, you're the one who has virtually excised cardiothoracics from Holby altogether. Are you seriously suggesting you want to compete for the funding?'

Although he had refused it, he reached for her glass, and turning the lipstick mark to the other side, took a sip. The act was strangely intimate, and it took her utterly by surprise.

'When you told me you were resigning, Connie, I knew that it was the first time you were being totally honest with me. You were speaking from the heart when you tried to protect your colleagues, when you tried to save Elliot. When you hated me for firing the people you have been sparring with for years. I knew that it was a mistake to let you go-'

'Let me? I hardly think you could have stopped me.' Connie scoffed, reclaiming her glass and pointedly draining it.

He refilled it dutifully and she rearranged the cardigan that had been slipping, unnoticed, down her shoulder.

'So what has caused this dramatic change of heart, Henrik, if you have one that is?'

'I find that kind of insult highly ironic coming from the Ice Queen of Holby.' He replied dryly.

She gave him a small but comradely smile on that point. They had their similarities, after all.

'I still need an explanation.'

Again he reached for her glass, but this time merely smudged the lipstick mark with his thumb, idly.

'It has come to my attention that if we don't get the funding, CT at Holby will cease to exist. And without CT, Holby City would cease to exist as an independent hospital.'

'A merger.'

'A merger with... casualties.'

'Elliot.' She said quietly. He nodded.

'Amongst others. Miss Naylor, Mr Byrne and Mr Douglas would find themselves in hot water. And the nursing staff would be halved at least.'

'So, what is this? A cut too far? Or... wait, I'm seeing another problem. A merger would mean, ah yes, no job for Henrik Hanssen.' She rationalised smugly.

Connie jumped as he slammed the wine glass back onto the coffee table. 'This has nothing to do with me saving my own skin, Mrs Beauchamp. I, like yourself, have an inexplicable ability to land on my feet if I so choose. But Holby is where I want to be, and the team of surgeons I have at my disposal are at the top of their game. I want things to stay that way.'

He was looking at the carpet now, after his little outburst, unable it seemed to meet her eye. She realised suddenly that he didn't believe himself to be her superior, not completely. The urge to use this to her advantage was a familiar one, but she restrained herself for now. After all, she had a feeling that there was a lot more to the Swede than met the eye, and she didn't want to misjudge things in her haste to put him down.

She wondered what had really been going through his head when he sought her out in person, in her own home. Was it possible that he was after more than just her acceptance of his job offer? He must know of her reputation. She considered it, but couldn't see any obvious advantages from having him like that. It wouldn't be a secret that she could hold over him any more than he could hold it over her. There was no infidelity involved on either side... And yet she was getting more and more excited by the idea as she thought about it. What would he be like between the sheets? At first she had assumed he would be awkward and nervy, but there was something in his eyes, wasn't there? Something unpredictable.

'Please consider my offer, Mrs Beauchamp... Connie.' Henrik finally said, rising from the sofa. 'Now if you'll excuse me.'

'I hope you're not intending to drive, Henrik.' She protested.

'I've only had one glass.'

'A generous one. Unless you're planning to use your organ donation card, I suggest you stay in my spare room tonight.'

'Well, if you are quite sure.' He acquiesced, his tone as clipped as ever.

'Oh quite, Mr Hanssen. Quite sure.' She gave him a smile. 'Which means you can have another.'

She went to the kitchen to open the bottle he'd brought with him and was aware of his footsteps behind her. She allowed him to watch her from behind as she opened the bottle with a practised hand, and the cork came out with a pop.

She shivered as fingers grazed her skin unexpectedly, dragging the soft cashmere back up her shoulder from where it had fallen down her arm once again.

'Wouldn't want you to catch a cold.'

She turned, giving him a determined look, and shrugged the luxurious material from her body, revealing a pale pink camisole beneath. His mouth opened slightly, and she wondered if she had gone too far, but he regained his composure and looked, slowly and deliberately down her body and back up to her eyes.

'Your usual subtlety has escaped you, Mrs Beauchamp.'

She didn't correct his use of her surname this time, realising that he wasn't being polite or formal. In fact, it turned him on, either because it suggested she belonged to someone else or because it was the confident surgeon in her that he wanted. Either way it didn't matter, she felt exactly the same way about him.

'Do I scare you, Mr Hanssen?' She teased, tugging playfully at his tie.

'Not a bit.' He replied, batting away her hand as if it was a mild irritation, pressing her firmly back against the kitchen work surface behind her. She became acutely aware of just how tall he was, and was forced to wait for him to decide to kiss her, but he kept her on edge, tangling his fingers in her dark brown locks to hold her head still as their cheeks brushed and he breathed her in. His other hand was creeping up from its place on her hip, gliding over the silk camisole until his thumb was stroking the underside of her breast through the material and a quick, desperate breath gave away her arousal. He took advantage of her open mouth, claiming it with his own, kissing her deeply and unreservedly.

...

Henrik woke in the early hours and lay watching the beautiful woman sleeping next to him. They were a match for each other, at work and in bed, fighting for dominance, but reaching a kind of compromise in the end. Connie had surprised him by allowing him so much control. He had made it worth her while, of course. The memory of her face as she came, delicious little whimpers coming from her lips as he pleasured her, would surely haunt him in every board meeting, but it was worth it. They would make one hell of a team if... if she wanted them to be a team.

'Henrik?' She mumbled, half asleep, reaching out to him across the short distance between them.

Well this was new, he thought, as he found himself being tugged into a close embrace, her soft hair splayed over his chest, a toned, smooth leg flung over his own.

'Are you scared now?' She asked in the darkness, her voice melting him as it had always done.

'Absolutely petrified.' He answered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.


End file.
